Doctor's Daughter

by Jean S. MacLeod

  She knew that he was as confused as she had been, trusting Huntley instinctively yet unable to disregard the weight of evidence that seemed to lie in the balance against him. They had not gone into details—they had not had time for that—but the majority of his uncle’s employees had already accused Huntley. He had given the order for the blasting to be carried out, they said, and that had been good enough for them.

  Nothing like that made any difference, however, when a life hung in the balance. She looked at her father and nodded, waiting until Rhona came abreast of the station wagon so that she could borrow the bicycle to ride up the driveway to Mrs. Campbell’s assistance.

  Jessie welcomed her eagerly and with much relief.

  “It’s real good of the doctor to have sent you,” she declared. “He’s always so thoughtful. Things are going to be a bit awkward until we can get the old master up here.” Her eyes darkened. “You don’t think there’s little hope when he can’t be moved?” she asked anxiously.

  “My father is taking every precaution,” was all Christine could tell her. “To move Mr. Treverson at this stage might be fatal, but he will bring him home whenever he can. Meanwhile, we will all have to pull together and share the nursing between us. The district nurse will come in. of course, but she has so many other calls on her time.”

  “I know! I know, and it’s a blessing it is that you’re here!” Jessie was patently grateful. “Will you be going up to see Mr. Huntley now, or will you have a cup of tea first?”

  “If I can carry up his tea for you,” Christine offered, “I’ll get mine later.”

  “I’ll set two cups on his tray.” Jessie looked at her keenly. “Maybe you can convince him he’ll have to stay in his room and give that back of his a chance to heal,” she suggested, “for I can’t! I’ve often thought his uncle was the stubborn one where taking orders was concerned, but he’s just as bad—every bit as bad! You’ll have to be firm, or else we’ll have to send for your father again, for it seems that he’s the only one he’ll listen to!”

  “I’ll see what I can do,” Christine promised, but as she mounted the broad flight of oak stairs leading to the floor above, there was a grave sense of misgiving in her heart.

  How would Huntley receive her, and how would he look upon her unsolicited offer of help?

  Nervously she knocked on his door and waited, but when there was no reply she balanced the tray on one arm and went in.

  “I’m no use whatever lying here, Mrs. Campbell!” The voice came from the bed as she crossed the floor. “I must get on my feet. Things will get completely out of hand—”

  She had come within his line of vision, and he stopped abruptly, staring at her in what appeared to be helpless amazement for a moment, staring and frowning.

  “There’s no need for this, Christine,” he said at last. “I’m not an invalid.”

  “My father thinks you should stay in bed, all the same,” she told him firmly, “and he has sent me to see that you do!”

  “But there’s no sense in you involving yourself like this...”

  She put the tray down on the bedside table, moving cigarettes and his lighter to one side to make room for it.

  “There’s no question of being involved,” she said. “There has been an accident and my father has pressed everyone into service, that’s all.”

  “An accident!” he smiled wryly. “Thanks for putting it that way! You are unfailingly kind.”

  She flushed under his obvious sarcasm.

  “We’ll not discuss it just now, if you don’t mind,” she said briefly. “You’ve been hurt, and I’ve come up to help Mrs. Campbell nurse you.”

  He lay back among his pillows, closing his eyes in a gesture of unutterable weariness.

  “If only I might accept that!”

  “You must accept it. It looks very much as if ... your uncle is going to be laid up for a long time, and if you want to get on your feet again you must accept our help. We are willing to do what we can for you.”

  He opened his eyes, looking at her steadily, a look that set all her pulses beating wildly and brought all her love welling to the surface again, and then he said harshly, “All the same, I’d feel much better about everything if you didn’t come to Glenavon!”

  The words had been deliberate, carefully calculated to express the feeling of obligation under which he had no desire to stay, and they struck her with the force of a blow. Her proud spirit recoiled long before her heart had registered its hurt, but she was able to say with all the dignity at her command, “I’m sorry you feel this way. I came to help Mrs. Campbell, but as soon as I can find a suitable substitute I shall respect your wish. For the moment, however, my father will feel happier about you if I am in charge up here. The district nurse is doing what she can for your uncle.”

  He reached for a cigarette and lit it, and she saw that his hand was not quite steady, but his eyes were hard and calculating when he finally looked back at her.

  “Can’t someone be sent from Fort William?” he asked. “I know it’s expecting a lot and I don’t want to inconvenience the district nurse, but she might know of someone capable to look after me for a day or two until I can get on my feet again.”

  “I’ll see what can be done,” Christine agreed, her heart aching with the weight of his indifference. “We can phone Fort William, if you wish, but nurses are difficult to get.”

  “I suppose so.” He was examining the end of his cigarette with exaggerated attention. “Still, it might just be managed, don’t you think?”

  “Something must be managed.” Her voice had choked on the words and she could no longer stem the tears which welled into her eyes, tears of disappointment and a hurt that went far too deep for words. “We can’t go on like this when you ... when you so obviously find it irksome.”

  She fled from the room without giving him any chance to reply, going blindly down the stairs to where Jessie Campbell was working in the kitchen, and something in her face told the old woman a great deal.

  “You’ve found him too much for you, eh?” she asked. “A pity. Ay, a great pity! He’s going to be his old uncle over again, though I imagined there was a saving grace somewhere.”

  Christine did not seem to hear her. She was sorting bandages and dressings with automatic precision while her keen ears picked up the sound of a car’s engine winding up the driveway toward the house. It stopped outside the front door, but there was no summoning ring at the bell, and presently they heard footsteps in the hall and realized that their unexpected caller had found the door unlatched and had come in without ceremony. Thinking it was her father, Christine went swiftly along the passage to be met by Laura Bramshaw in a summer frock and shady garden hat looking like an advertisement for someone’s uncrushable silk.

  “Where’s Huntley?” she demanded, showing no surprise at sight of Christine. “I heard he had been hurt so I came along immediately. Of course, he’ll want me to take charge. They tell me his uncle is still at the quarry.”

  Christine could not answer immediately. She felt as if she had been crushed, as if Huntley himself had sent for Laura, accepting her ministrations while he had turned down her own.

  “I’m not sure that he can have visitors yet,” she heard herself saying in defense of her father’s trust in her. “He has lost a great deal of blood and is bound to be weak and in need of rest.”

  “Visitors! My dear Miss Helmsdale, I hardly came in that role!” Laura laughed. “Huntley and I are old friends—very old friends—and it is the most natural thing in the world that he should want me to take charge now. I’m not exactly a nurse, of course,” she added with a deprecating glance at Christine’s rather soiled white coat, “but I can do quite a lot’ for him, I expect. Besides, Mrs. Campbell is really quite capable.”

  “It is a question of dressing and bandaging his wounds,” Christine reminded her with returning spirit, “My father’s orders are to be obeyed, Miss Bramshaw, and I must remain here until he releases me.” />
  “And your father quite definitely made the ‘no visitors’ rule?” Laura queried.

  “No, but—”

  “Oh, I see! It was entirely your own idea?” She looked amused. “Well, I’m afraid I’m going to break it, and I’m quite sure Huntley will agree. Don’t let me hurry you away, though. It was good of you to come.”

  Christine stood irresolute, feeling that she should be able to deal with this, yet conscious that Huntley himself had deprived her of any authority she might have had, and then Laura turned on her heel and made her way triumphantly up the stairs to Huntley’s room.

  She remained there for more than an hour and as she came down the stairs again the telephone rang in the hall. Without hesitation she crossed to the instrument and took the call.

  “It’s for Miss Helmsdale,” she announced as Mrs. Campbell hobbled along from the kitchen regions a second or two later. “Her father, I think.”

  Christine came at Jessie’s request, conscious that Laura was lingering until she had heard the result of the conversation.

  “Christine,” John Helmsdale said, “you’ll have to hang on there for an hour or two. The stork’s in flight! I’ve been waiting for this call all day, and I’ll have to take MacMillan with me. There may be complications. I’m leaving Rhona and young Caitland with Mr. Treverson. How are things at your end?”

  She did not hesitate, saying in her most practical tone, “Everything’s under control, sir! He ...I hope Huntley can get some rest now.”

  “I think you might change those bandages before he settles down for the night,” he advised. “The shoulder ones, I mean. Leave the others alone for a day or two, but the shoulder ones looked inadequate to me. I’ll be with you later on,” he promised as he rang off without waiting for her answer.

  “Will you get me some hot water, Mrs. Campbell?” she asked. “And bring it up to Mr. Huntley’s room.”

  Laura went out, slamming the door behind her, but somehow Christine did not care. She began to ascend the stairs, conscious that she was moving again to the routine she loved, obeying her father’s instructions, helping him out at a time of emergency, and not even Huntley’s brusqueness could wholly daunt her now.

  He was lying back against the pillows when she went into the room and she drew the heavily brocaded curtains back from the windows to gain more light.

  “What are you going to do?”

  “My father has sent instructions to change your bandages.” She spoke coolly and impersonally, as the most casual of nurses would have done. “Mrs. Campbell will be here with the water in a second or two.”

  He smiled crookedly.

  “You’re very competent, Christine,” he mused, while his dark eyes searched hers. “You would have made the perfect woman doctor.”

  “I often wish I had qualified,” she admitted as she unwound the displaced bandages on his broad shoulders, “but at the time when I should have been thinking of going to university my father was left without an assistant and he really needed me.”

  “It was after that, I suppose, that he acquired the admirable Dr. Kilbridge?”

  “About a year afterward.”

  “Where is he now?”

  “Nigel? He has gone to Edinburgh to take his degree in surgery.”

  “And then he will come back?”

  She flushed sensitively.

  “I don’t know. I think my father hopes that he will.”

  “And you?” he demanded, his head turned sideways on the pillow in an effort to see her face.

  “Yes,” she admitted, thinking of Rhona, “I hope that, too.”

  He seemed to subside into the pillow, his body suddenly relaxed, and she paused in her task.

  “I’m sorry if I have hurt you...”

  The sound that came from the pillow was like a hollow laugh. “Go ahead!” he told her. “I can take it.”

  Mrs. Campbell came in with the water and Christine swabbed out the flesh wounds on his shoulders and applied her dressing with expert skill and in a silence punctuated only by Jessie’s odd remark.

  “I think you should be comfortable enough for the night now,” she said at last. “I’ll take this bowl downstairs, Mrs. Campbell, and you can tidy up the room.” She was not looking at Huntley. She felt that she could not because her heart was as heavy as lead when she thought of the future. “My father will look in later on.”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  In the days that followed the accident at the quarry one event followed another with such rapidity that Christine had difficulty afterward fitting them into their correct sequence.

  Huntley’s attitude on the day of the accident had made it impossible for her to stay at Glenavon, and she knew that it would be little use attempting to substitute Rhona for herself because he was evidently determined not to remain indebted to them in any way. He could not spurn her father’s administrations, however, and Rhona continued to do what she could for his uncle at the quarry, helped by the district nurse. There seemed no possibility of getting a nurse from Fort William, and when Christine approached her father on the subject he frowned and said, “What mad idea have we to contend with now? Better let me go up to Glenavon and talk some sense into his head!”

  “No—please!” she begged. “He might only think I was complaining.”

  “The complaints might very easily be on our side,” he growled, although she did not believe him to be seriously annoyed. “There’s far more behind this quarry how-d’ye-do than meets the eye, if I’m any judge, but they’re a stubborn lot, the Treversons, and we’re very likely never to know the truth of yesterday’s upheaval.”

  “The quarry men are blaming Huntley,” Christine said, “and he won’t defend himself. Oh!” she cried, exasperated. “Why are people so determined and stubborn!”

  “Possibly because they feel that if other people can’t trust them, explanations would be no use, anyway. This business of a private nurse being sent from Fort William is just nonsense. We could have managed between us, and, anyway, I don’t suppose he will get his nurse at such short notice. They aren’t exactly growing on the nearest tree these days!”

  Huntley got his nurse, however, in the person of Laura Bramshaw.

  The doctor went to pay a routine morning visit at Glenavon and found her installed at the house looking very much the part in a white overall with her hair attractively bound up in a white silk scarf.

  “I simply couldn’t leave it all to Mrs. Campbell,” she explained. “If you’ll tell me exactly what to do, Doctor, and he isn’t too ill to be cared for by a probationer—”

  “He isn’t too ill,” John told her impatiently, because he had never had any time for people like Laura and also because he was feeling vaguely disappointed and, somehow, thwarted. “He should be on his feet in about a week’s time. It’s his uncle who is mostly in need of expert care now.”

  “I understand he is getting that very adequately down at the quarry,” Laura smiled. “Your daughters must be a great comfort to you, Doctor Helmsdale.”

  “Indeed they are,” he agreed, “and amazingly dependable. And now, if you don’t mind, I’ll take a look at the patient,” he suggested, and went off upstairs leaving her smiling in the hall. Huntley proved difficult.

  “I can’t stay here indefinitely,” he protested. “There must be someone in control at the quarries.”

  “You haven’t been in bed a week yet,” the doctor told him amiably, “and if you insist on getting up you’ll probably find yourself indoors for a month or two. I’m giving the orders around here at the moment, Treverson. You’re not in a fit state to go down to the quarries or anywhere else, but if there’s anything on your mind I’ll do what I can to put it right for you.”

  They looked at each other steadily for a moment. The doctor imagined that he saw hesitation in the younger man’s eyes, an impulse to confidence, and then Huntley looked away, saying abruptly, “I can deal with any trouble there might be. If you’ll be good enough to send me MacPherson
and Sandy Davidson I’ll be obliged. After that, there’s nothing more you can do, thank you all the same.”

  The doctor nodded and rose to his feet.

  “I’m leaving instructions with Miss Bramshaw,” he said, immediately aware of the look of surprise in his patient’s eyes when he mentioned Laura’s name and aware, also, of a lessening of his own resentment toward the man in the bed. “She tells me she has come to look after you and, in view of the fact that it will probably be impossible to get professional help, I think she will solve your problem. You also have Mrs. Campbell.”

  Huntley appeared to be waiting for him to finish and said at once, “Never mind me, doctor. What’s the truth about my uncle? Will this accident prove fatal or is there some hope that he will recover?”

  “It’s difficult to say at this stage,” he admitted frankly. “I’m afraid I can only hope that the measures I am taking will be successful. Your uncle is not really an old man—”

  “He is sixty-four and should have known better than to run up to a face when there was blasting going on!”

  The doctor’s lips tightened.

  “I dare say he had a good reason for doing that.”

  The silence became suddenly oppressive until John moved toward the door with a brief and almost impatient “good morning” that was not entirely lost on the younger man.

  Even though he was practically helpless, Ben Treverson was in no way the perfect patient. He demanded attention without being able to ask for it, and his eyes, sunk like living coals in his strangely wizened face, were the most restless things Christine had ever seen. Whenever her father was with him he seemed determined to convey something to him that he considered it imperative that his old friend should hear, and even after the doctor had gone he would allow himself very little peace.